


Angelina & Adrian: Failure to Launch

by RosevalleyNB



Series: Unconventional, Almost Unlikely [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempt at Humor, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Marriage Contracts, No War-AU, Plotting Parents, Polyjuice Potion, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Sneaking Around, keeping up appearances - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8781238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosevalleyNB/pseuds/RosevalleyNB
Summary: As Adrian watched Angelina disappear down the steep stairs –and hoping that she’d tumble down onto her arse- a plan formed in his head. Maybe, he should take his father’s words to heart and entertain himself with Johnson. That ought to be fun.

 
 Right?
 “What’s with the face?” the waitress asked.
 Adrian shook his head as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ve vomited in my mouth.”
 
Forced into a betrothal contract by their conniving parents, Angelina and Adrian must make the best of their little problem.Or as Adrian would say; “This is my plan to make our lives easier until you find a way to dissolve the contract.”





	1. Come And Meet Them

**Author's Note:**

> And here it is, the newest part of the Unconventional series. It took me a while, and it's still not complete (no worries, it's only the introduction to the next couple that's missing a.ka. the last chapter and foreshadowing that needs to be inserted here and there).  
> If you pay close enough attentions, you'll spot the references to the other stories. 
> 
> A fair warning: if you've read Katie&Marcus, you'll know that these two will not have a happily ever after. I'm not going to change that as it's not the aim of this story. Angie and Adrian just want you to know how they got there in the first place and the aftermath of Adrian's action. Both will have their happy endings, though, promise.

**Angie’s 5 th Year at Hogwarts, Christmas Holiday**

“I’m not signing that.” Angelina crossed her arms as she fixed her father with a withering glare. “You take that back to where it came from.”

 

“Darling, please.” Saoirse Johnson put her hand on her daughter’s arm to calm her down. She pretended not to notice how Angelina flinched at her touch. In fact, it prompted her to dig her fingers deeper to keep her daughter from bolting out the room. “Let your father explain.”

 

Angelina tried to shake off her mother’s hand, her anger growing with the second. “Explain what exactly? He’s sold me to the highest bidder, what else is there? Why are you all right with this?”

 

Malcolm Johnson rubbed his temples, silently cussing himself out for listening to his wife and springing this on their daughter instead of taking a more sensitive approach. They had been at this for hours, and frankly, he felt drained and ready to throw in the towel.

 

“It’s a business deal, love,” he started again, proud of himself for keeping his patience. “It won’t come into effect until the year after you’ve finished Hogwarts. But don't worry; the deal will be finalised long before that time comes. I promise.”

 

Angelina eyed the betrothal contract as if it was something disgusting she had stepped in. “Why sign it in the first place then?”

 

“To show our good intention, darling. This deal is very important for our company. Our likelihood depends on it,” Saoirse answered for her husband. The contract had been her idea, and it felt unfair to have their daughter’s anger directed solely at him.

 

“Likelihood? What does that mean? We’ll become poor if I don’t sign it?”

 

“Yes, poorer than the Weasleys,” Saoirse rushed to agree, kicking her husband under the table before he opened his gob to disagree and ruin everything. “We’d have to sell the house, your broom. You name it.”

 

“But I like my broom.” Angelina nibbled on her thumb as she mulled over her mother’s words. “If I agree, who else will know? I don’t want anyone to know about it.”

 

“Just us three and the Puceys. We won’t even file the contract with the Ministry until the, ah, the wedding plans need formalising, and by then, we’ll have taken over the company and can tell them to suck on a mandrake root.” Although he didn’t agree with his wife’s approach to scare their daughter into it, hope laced Malcolm's voice. If Angie worried about the betrothal becoming public knowledge, the chances were that she was considering it.

 

Angelina looked back and forth between her parents. Her angry scowl softened when she failed to find more reasons to justify her refusal other than that she didn't want to be part of it. “I can tear this up as soon as the deal is done?”

 

“As second the contracts are signed, love. Burn it for all I care.” Malcolm cracked a smile in relief when Angelina slowly unfolded her arms. He nodded at his wife to have a quill and ink ready.

 

“I can just go on as before, and no one will know? It’s just on paper?” Angelina asked again. She needed to reassurance that her parents weren’t leading her to the slaughterhouse. “I won’t have to do anything, right?”

 

“Nothing changes. It’s just your signature on a piece of paper, and you can go on with your day.” Saoirse pushed the contract in her direction and handed her a quill. “Everything will remain the same. Promise.”

 

“I’ll buy you the newest Nimbus as soon as this whole ordeal is behind us,” Malcolm added. “Hell, I’ll buy you your own Quidditch team.”

 

Despite her parents’ reassurances and promises, Angelina couldn’t shake off the feeling that this, in fact, changed everything. Because from this day on, Adrian Pucey would be her betrothed.

 

***

 

**Angie’s 5 th Year at Hogwarts, a week before Valentine’s Day**

 

Angelina hurried through the empty corridors to the Great Hall for dinner. As she ran, she mussed her hair and pinched the tender skin of her neck over and over again. Terry Boot wasn’t the hands-on kisser she had hoped him to be -he was disgusting actually - so messing up her appearance was a job left up to her. Hopefully, Pucey would notice how utterly snogged she looked, and decide then and there that he didn’t want her as his betrothed. He was of age since a few days and could back out the contract without his father’s consent. And when he did, her parents wouldn’t be able to blame her for cocking up their plans.

 

All she had to do was give him a nudge in the right direction.

 

“Cheap slag,” someone she passed said too loudly.

 

See, a mere one week into her masterplan and the rumours had already started.

 

Angelina glanced over her shoulder to see who it was. The first thing she noticed was the green and silver ties. It looked like the Gods were on her side for a change. Slytherins were the biggest gossipmongers at Hogwarts and could be trusted to spread rumours whether they were false or not. However, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember the girls’ names to thank them later. Then again, dungeon-dwellers, certainly the younger ones, barely held her interest and she had better things to do than to memorise their names. So, she decided on Pug and Pudgy.

 

“Takes one to know one, love,” Angelina said with a laugh. A simultaneous two-finger salute was their reply.

 

“Great rebuttal,” she muttered under her breath as she continued her way. She had bigger fish to fry today than to put some ickle lower years in their place.

 

By the doors to the Great Hall, she stood still, chewed her lips to swell them, and loosened her tie. As a finishing touch, she undid the top three buttons of her blouse. If she was going to do this, create a certain reputation for herself to scare off the Puceys, she needed to give it her best.

 

After rolling her shoulders once more and unfastening another button, she pushed the doors open.

 

Showtime.

 

***

 

Adrian sat at the far end of the Slytherin table, his nose in his Advanced Arithmancy book as he counted down another day until summer. Since Marcus and Terence had finished school last year, he was bored out his mind and didn’t have anything better to do than study. With those two as his best friends, everything else seemed so bland these days. And to his bad luck, Montague had decided to kick him off the Slytherin team at the beginning of the year. Over the summer, the sod had repeatedly walked in on Higgs banging his older sister, Sophia, and somehow blamed him for it.

 

But that wasn’t the worst of it all. Before Adrian could stop himself, his mind wandered off to the contract his father had tricked him into signing last Christmas. His face twisted in disgust as he thought about Johnson and the fact that he was stuck with her for the unforeseeable future for reasons he didn't understand. Damn his father and his tendency to speak in greater riddles than Dumbledore.

 

“Hi, Adrian,” a soft voice interrupted his fantasies about putting his father in the shabbiest old wizard home he could find once the time came. Muffled girlish giggles followed soon after, which enticed a round of sniggers from his left.

 

Groaning inwardly, he snapped his eyes up from his book. First, he jerked his head at Zabini and Nott to shut them up. The two younger boys bit their lips and held up their hands in defeat. When he was sure that they would keep quiet for now, he turned to the girls on his right.

 

Pansy Parkinson stood with her books clutched to her chest, her face as red as an overripe tomato. Behind her, Millicent Bulstrode offered him a small wave followed by an awkward sounding snort-giggle before she ducked her head. Sighing deeply, he forced a smile on his face and gave them a curt nod. That had Parkinson turn even redder to the point he feared that her head might explode.

 

“Everything alright?” In reality, he wanted to tell them to move on and let him be. But, since Millicent was Marcus’ cousin, he’d be crazy to be rude to her.

 

Flint had the tendency to go feral whenever it came to her, taking the family pride and overprotectiveness to a whole other level. Why, was the biggest question. Adrian couldn’t think of anyone who’d want to touch the girl voluntarily unless someone paid them to do it. Besides, her big mouth was enough to take care of herself if needed. In the worst case, she’d sit on whoever dared to slight her, which he'd seen her do to the Malfoy prick a few weeks ago in the common room when the git had refused to give back her wand.

 

“Y-yes,” Parkinson squeaked. She quickly glanced over her shoulder. Seeing Millicent nod, she turned her attention to Adrian again. “So, uhm, I-ah… I was wondering…”

 

_‘Gods, not again. Don’t say it.’_

 

Still, he couldn’t voice it aloud without being branded an arsehole, even if it was the same ritual almost every other week. “You were wondering?”

 

Millicent pushed Parkinson a little and hissed something unintelligible in her ear.

 

“So, yeah, I was wondering…” She clutched her books closer to her chest and looked like she was about to burst out in tears when her stammering caught the attention of their Housemates. “Uhm… wondering…”

 

“You’ve said that already. A few times.” Adrian wasn’t proud of it, but the sniggers around him did feed his ego a bit.

 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Millicent said in exasperation as she pushed Parkinson aside. “She wants to know if you’ll go to Hogsmeade with her next weekend for Valentine's Day. She'll pay your way. So, yes or no?”

 

Loud laughter drowned out Adrian’s meek ‘no’ followed by the ‘not in a million years’. Parkinson hastily scurried off with Millicent on her tail, no doubt to write a complaint to Marcus. Resigning to his fate of most probably getting his arse kicked next weekend for something he couldn’t help, Adrian dove into his book again. Although the jokes about pug-nosed Parkinson that came from left and right were kind of funny, it would be better not fuel to the fire that were his rabid Housemates.

 

Eventually, the laughter and jests died down, and he could concentrate on his studies again. He was right in the middle of almost understanding what he was reading when Montague whistled in appreciation.

 

“Who do you think had the honours?”

 

“You ought to ask who hasn’t, mate,” Bole shot back.

 

Not wanting to be part of gossiping -before you knew they’d turn on you, after all- Adrian ducked further into his book. And for a while, he managed to ignore them. Until someone dropped the name that had the ability to make his blood boil and turn his good mood into Snape’s charming demeanour within seconds.

 

“Who are you talking about?” he asked Bole in the hopes he'd misheard.

 

“Johnson,” his dorm mate answered as he cocked his chin at the Gryffindor table. “The word is that she’s isn’t too picky with who she drags into broom cupboards. Maybe we’ll get lucky too one of these days, yeah?”

 

As Adrian turned his attention to the Gryffindor table, the restlessness he felt intensified further and utter annoyance decided to get into the mix when he laid eyes on the source of the gossip around him. Not for the first time since Christmas, he cursed his father for saddling him with the vilest girl he knew.

 

Flanked by one of the Weasels and Jordan, who nodded in appreciation as they took turns looking down her shirt, Angelina Johnson looked like she had just rolled out someone’s bed after a nightlong romp.

 

Bloody hell, how he hated his life.


	2. No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

**Angie's sixth year, Early October**

 

“Come on, love, don’t be a prude.” Alicia giggled behind her hand at seeing Katie turn an unhealthy shade of purple.

 

“Yeah, you should give him a try,” Angelina added. “He was a bit rusty in the beginning, but he got a lot better. I taught him all he knows, you can thank me later.”

 

“No! Leave me alone,” Katie squeaked and tried to walk away, but her friends blocked her path. “Move, I have to study for my OWLs.”

 

“Those are months away. Just give him a try.” Alicia nudged her in the direction of the rosebushes where Roger Davies awaited. “You said that you wanted to snog and he kindly agreed to help you out. Don’t keep him waiting. That's rude.”

 

“I’ve changed my mind,” Katie mumbled as she eyed Roger from underneath her lashes. “I’m gonna wait a little longer. Yeah, maybe I'll do it next year. Or, uh, after my N.E.W.T.s. Yeah, I’m gonna wait until-”

 

“No, it’s time. You’re sixteen now, old enough to do it. Go and have a chat with him,” Angelina encouraged. “You don’t have to stick your tongue down his throat the moment you walk up to him, you know.”

 

“What does my tongue-” Katie pulled a face in disgust when realisation set in. “Eww, people do that? How is that kissing?”

 

“Oh, sweet girl, you’ll learn. For now, just lick his lips, just like we’ve taught you.” Alicia nudged her again, her face red with laughter she was trying to hold in. “We’ll be right around the corner, yeah? Call us if you need help.”

 

Katie wanted to protest, or even better, run to her dorm and write her parents that her friends were mean to her again, but the looks on the older girls’ faces told her not to bother. Finally, her shoulders sagged as she nodded in resignation. “I guess I can spare a few minutes. Just my lips on his, right? Like you’ve shown me?”

 

“That’s more than enough for a first kiss,” Angelina reassured and gave her a slight push. “Now, go and get ‘em. Make us proud.”

 

As Katie walked to Roger at a snail’s pace, looking over her shoulders every other step and clearly hoping that her friends would call her back, Angelina threw her arm around Alicia’s shoulders, who was sniffling and wiping imaginary tears from her cheeks.

 

“She’s growing up so fast, isn’t she?”

 

“Yeah, she is. It feels like yesterday that we told her about the birds and the bees.”

 

“That was yesterday,” Angelina reminded her.

 

“Oh, right.” Alicia nodded and then suddenly snapped her fingers. “We ought to ask Ollie to give her one of his anatomy lessons next, yeah?” She grabbed Angie’s arm when Katie reached Roger. Although she wanted to keep her front row seat, seeing first-timers snog wasn’t all that exciting. “Come, let’s give the kids some privacy.”

 

After a final wave at a wide-eyed Katie, the girls hurried around the corner and slumped down on the grass against the castle wall, overseeing the lake. In the distance, this year’s new couples wandered along the bank. Some were holding hands, others held up the steady stream of strollers to kiss, and a few professionals -mostly the experienced upper years- did both as they kept on walking.

 

“So, are you going to tell me about it?” Alicia nonchalantly asked as she rummaged through her bag for a bag of Berties.

 

“Tell you what?” Angie craned her neck to see who this year’s newest couples were. The flash of red hair had her worried for a minute, but thank Gods it was just Percy with that what's-her-name Ravenclaw girl. Fred was still free for her to grab once she felt like it.

 

“That thing that's got your knickers in a knot. You know you want to tell me.”

 

Angelina frowned as she cast her friend a side-eyed glance. “You’re fishing. That only works on Katie.”

 

“I’m not fishing, just asking.” Alicia shrugged and held out the bag with the sweets. When Angelina reached for it, she hastily pulled it back. “I’ll share if you tell me why you’ve been ogling Pucey lately.”

 

“I have not.” Angie grimaced at hearing her far too high-pitched voice. So far for acting casual. Clearing her throat, she gave it another go. “I do not ogle boys, let alone a snake.”

 

Alicia hummed in disbelief as she shoved a handful of carefully picked beans in her mouth and tried her best to annoy her friend with loud chews.

 

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me. Dammit, stop doing that, it's disgusting.” Again, Angelina grimaced at hearing her own high-pitched voice. Gods, she sounded like Mrs Bell after Katie missed her curfew by five seconds.

 

“So, you don't want to get into Pucey’s lacy knickers?” Alicia held out the bag and pulled it back when Angelina reached for it. "I mean, talking boys out their trousers is your new pastime these days, isn’t it?"

 

“Jealous, are you? Anyway, who’d want to see him without trousers?” Angelina lodged her elbow in Alicia’s ribs and ripped the bag from her hands when she doubled over. No one called her slag or refused her sweets without paying for it.

 

“Sodding wench.”

 

“Serves you right.”

 

“Whatever.” Alicia rubbed her sore ribs. Her scowl turned into a smug grin when Angelina’s face twisted in disgust as the beans released their sordid flavours. She knew very well when to show off her candy in public. Seeing Angelina slightly distracted, she resumed her interrogation. “So, Pucey. Are you trying to get in or not?”

 

“What’s it to you?” Angelina wheezed between spitting and gagging.

 

“Just curious.”

 

"Curiosity killed the Kneazle."

 

Alicia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but satisfaction brought it back. So, go on, satisfy me."

 

Angelina scoffed and crossed her arms as she kept her gaze trained on the happy couples on the bank. Suddenly, her sour expression turned acidic when the boy in question appeared on the bank. With girlish company. Girlish company that resembled a blob.

 

"What the..." she mumbled barely audible. The lines on her forehead deepened as her brows furrowed in confusion. What was he trying to do, beat her at her own game? With that?

 

Objectively speaking, Pucey wasn't a complete eyesore like his friend Flint was, but he wasn’t the handsome dream man Terence Higgs was either. Straight brown hair, dark eyes, and if the summer was kind enough to let out the sun from behind the thick clouds for a few seconds, he had the ability to look a little less pale than the average Scot. He wasn't cross-eyed, slow, or hunchbacked like you'd see with most of the inbred Purebloods within Slytherin. She would have even said that he was a decent enough person for a dungeon dweller. But that had been before the contract.

 

All she saw now was a lanky, thin boy with greasy hair and purulent pimples. A silly snake who probably thought that she'd be jealous of his new conquest. Maybe he was slow from all that inbreeding after all. Who in their right mind wouldn't mind being seen with that overly fat girl?

 

Angelina's brilliant plan to send a Jelly-Legs Jinx their way –it would be so glorious to see Pudgy fall face down into the mud and take Pucey down with her- were interrupted by a high-pitched shriek.

 

"Yesss, I knew he'd listen. Less than five minutes, he is a horny bastard," Alicia said sniggering as she leant back against the castle wall and held out her hand. “You wanna pay now or later?”

 

"Oh, for Circe's sake, I told him to take it slow." Sighing in annoyance, Angelina reached into her pocket. She wasn't sure if she felt that way because Katie had just cost her a Galleon or because Pucey felt it was necessary to toss his arm around the fat girl's shoulders. Would it kill him to show a bit more class when it came to his conquests? You know, like she was doing.

 

"Yeah, about that... I might have-"

 

"Wot? You might have what?" Angelina tore her eyes off Pucey and his new whatever Pudgy was supposed to be. To her surprise, Alicia had clasped her hand over her mouth, eyes as big as saucers.

 

That could only mean one thing.

 

Angelina pinched the bridge of her nose. "She's here, isn't she?"

 

"Yeah, she's fast," came the muffled answer.

 

Slowly, Angelina lifted her head and plastered a broad grin on her face to counter whatever was about to be unleashed. A seething Katie was hovering over them. Her usually rosy cheeks had turned crimson in anger and a faint red stain covered her chin. She wagged an accusing finger at them as she furiously kept wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Behind her, a sobbing Roger Davies hurried away as fast as his legs could carry him.

 

"That mental hag bit me!" he cried from behind his hand. The small trickle of blood down his chin and shirt gave Angelina a good idea of what the smudge on Katie's chin was.

 

"Because you're a disgusting perv! Perv! Keep your tongue to yourself from now on!" Katie shouted at him and turned to her friends, still pointing and glaring hard enough to make Angelina squirm uncomfortably in her spot. "You sodding crows!" 

*** 

"She really likes you," Millicent tried again. "Can't you take her out just once before you leave school for good? You'd make her happy."

 

Adrian rounded his cheeks as he tried to come up with another variant of ‘no’ since that didn’t get the message across. Neither had 'no way', 'perhaps next lifetime', nor the -to him- very clear 'I don't want to'. He should have used his spine and stayed in his room instead relenting to Millicent’s badgering to join her on a stroll. Of course, she hadn't asked him to come along out the kindness of her heart. Well, not kindness directed at him, anyway.

 

"Wouldn't that give her the wrong idea, though?" Alarmed by her expression, he tossed his arm around her shoulders before she could put him in a headlock. "You're a good friend, Millie, and I know you mean well, but don’t you think Pansy’d be offended when she finds out that the only reason I asked her to Hogsmeade was your pestering. Wouldn't you be hurt if someone did that to you?"

 

"I'm not pestering you!" she exclaimed, but her indignation was short-lived. "I am, aren't I? It's just- She's my best friend. I want her to be happy, s'all, and she's happy when you're around."

 

It was flattering, it honestly was, but Adrian had bigger dreams to realise and better things to do in live than to give in to some girl's fancy. "That's, uh, nice. Look, I'm sitting for my N.E.W.T.s this year, and I'm not planning on redoing them. That means I must study hard and a lot. Don't you think it's for the best that I keep my distance so she can get used to me not being here? Maybe focus on someone else?"

 

"I guess," Millicent mumbled, keeping her gaze on the muddy bank.

 

She stayed quiet for a long time, and Adrian was sure that he'd got through to her. Unfortunately, that sense of relief didn't last long. Just when he wanted to suggest that they return to their common room, she spoke up again. It came out quiet, nothing more than a whisper, and if the wind had blown in a different direction, he would have missed it. And to be honest, he wished he had.

 

 "Boys never like us. What's wrong with us?"

 

Adrian grimaced and bit his tongue before he’d say something he'd come to regret. Maybe, if he ignored it for long enough, she'd forget that she asked it in the first place. Of course, she didn't. He couldn't remember if he'd seen Millicent cry before, but when she looked up with sad eyes glassy with unshed tears, he reckoned that this was the closest he'd ever come to see her like this.

 

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with you," he started and paused, hoping that Merlin himself would decent from the heavens and unleash a  disaster to distract her and keep him from having to explain. That didn't happen. "It's that, uh..."

 

"What?"

 

"You're gonna whine to Marcus if I tell you?"

 

“Yeah, I’m the whiner here.” Millicent rolled her eyes as she snorted. "I'll tell him if you don't tell me, agreed?"

 

Adrian weighed the pros and cons and decided to give honesty a shot. In case Millicent did complain about him to Marcus, he'd stay in the castle for the entire schoolyear where Marcus couldn't reach him. And hopefully, everyone would have forgotten all about it by summertime.

 

"Fine, but no sobbing because you can't handle the truth." He let out a yelp when she pinched the thin skin of his hand dangling from her shoulder. "That! That's why boys don't like you!"

 

"What do you mean? What did I do?"

 

Adrian rubbed his sore hand. "You can't go around hurting people because you don’t like what they've said to you."

 

"I do not!"

 

Adrian waved his hand in her face. "Yes, you do. And when you don't, you go off crying to Marcus so he can do it for you. Most boys like ladies, Millie, not brawlers. Learn to be a lady first, and maybe you'll get lucky one day-"

 

"Lucky? What's that supposed to mean?"

 

He scratched behind his ear, unsure if he ought to stop here. Then again, in for a knut, in for a galleon he reckoned. "Don't hate me, alright? But you and Pansy, well, you're not exactly lookers, are you? I mean, maybe if you're lucky, maybe Goyle or Crabbe- I mean there is someone for everyone."

 

"Oh, sod off. You sound like my mum," Millicent growled and gave him a hard push before she stalked off, nearly making him topple to the ground.

 

"That went well." Adrian let out a shuddered breath when she rounded the corner still cursing like a Knockturn Alley hag, and looked around in hopes that no one had seen that little drama unfold. He’d loathe having that kind of attention on him. Most of his schoolmates around were watching something with interest, pointing, and laughing. Thankfully, it wasn't directed at him.

 

It took Adrian a few second to figure what the commotion was about but when he finally did, it solidified his resolution to talk to his father because Johnson just couldn't stop making a spectacle of herself.

 

In the distance, a furious looking Skinny Bell was chasing around and hurling Stinging Hexes at Loudmouth Spinnet and Johnson, making them jump and reach for their arses each them a bright light hit them. Right behind the girls the Weasel Twins, Wood, and a few other Gryffs trailed closely, encouraging Bell to cast stronger spells.

 

Shaking his head, Adrian headed back to the Slytherin common room. The whole of Gryffindor House was nothing more than a bunch of degenerates, he decided, Johnson being the biggest.


	3. Twas Worth A Try

**The summer before Angie's seventh year**

 

Adrian took a deep breath to muster up the courage he desperately needed and knocked on his father’s study door. The damned contract he’d been forced to sign year-and-a-half ago burnt in his back pocket. He couldn’t find the will to pretend to care about it anymore. And that was exactly why he was here today. Hopefully, by the end of the desperately needed heart-to-heart, he’d able to kindle the fireplace with it.

 

“Come in,” Aloysius Pucey’s voice came after a few seconds.

 

“Here goes nothing,” Adrian muttered as pushed the door open. It miffed him to see that his father was still in discussion with Alistair Greengrass. “My apologies, Father-”

 

Aloysius didn’t give him a chance to finish what he wanted to say when his hand shot up. And then, without looking up or further acknowledging his presence, he pointed at one of the leather chairs in the corner: a silent order to sit down and shut up until he was spoken to.

 

Some things never changed.

 

“Of course, old fart,” Adrian muttered under his breath as he plopped down onto the squeaking chair.

 

“I don’t think the Marcus Flint is a good match, Alistair,” Aloysius started. After a warning look in Adrian's direction to ensure that he wouldn’t meddle in the discussion or rush off to inform his friend that there was talk about him, he turned to his guest again. “He is too old for Daphne and -how do I say this kindly- too boorish for your girl. Aurelius has been too lax with him. Have you given the Potter boy any consideration as I've told you to do? He’ll be a good match for her. I’m sure Arthur Weasley wouldn’t mind stepping up as his curator until we locate either of the Black brothers.”

 

Greengrass snorted in disgust. The suggestion alone was insulting. “A Potter with Weasley influence,” he spat. “And the deranged Blacks as godfathers. I don’t know what’s worse; the poverty or the stupidity rubbing off.”

 

“Arthur is an honourable and hardworking man, nothing wrong with that. Besides, I don’t think James Potter left his only son as poor as a church mouse. Even if he had, neither Sirius nor Regulus Black would let their godson perish. But whatever you say.” Aloysius scratched something off his parchment. “Speaking of rubbing off, the Zabini boy, Alistair? I thought you wanted to plan your daughter’s marriage, not her funeral.”

 

Greengrass mumbled something unintelligible as he furiously scratched on his parchment. “That leaves me with nothing.”

 

“Yes, perfect candidates are hard to come by.” Aloysius tapped his quill against his chin as he studied his list. “Ah, yes. We forgot about the Nott boy. I’m sure Theodore wouldn’t want his son to repeat his mistake of marrying too old.”

 

“Nott? Why didn't I think of that? We used to be friendly at one time."

 

Aloysius let out a loud laugh, startling his guest as well as his son. "Maybe, it's time you visit your old friend then."

 

Greengrass nodded as his whole face lit up. "Does he still rub shoulders with Lucius Malfoy?” Seeing Aloysius nod in confirmation, he mused on, “It would make it easier to push Astoria on Dirk, Dick, or whatever the poor boy is named. I can’t wait too long with her; she’s becoming a bit of a handful. Much, much worse than her sister. How soon can you talk to Theodore for me? I can't throw Daphne at them out of the blue. I don’t want to come off as too eager and ruin the negotiations.”

 

Adrian’s eyes drooped as he listened to the older men discuss the logistics surrounding their matchmaking and at some point, he must have dozed off. One moment, Greengrass was summing up the minimum clauses that needed to be discussed with Nott and the next his father nearly pulled his arm out its socket with his shaking.

 

“You wanted to have a word?” Aloysius pried the parchments from his son’s hand and sauntered back to his desk where he smoothed them out. When he noticed that Adrian was about to doze off again, he clapped his hands. “Get a move on, I don’t have the whole day. You have ten minutes until Marcellus Montague arrives.”

 

“Who’d want Sophia Montague? Ter said- uhm…” Adrian swallowed the rest of what he’d wanted to say and mumbled an apology when his father surveyed him with raised brows, unimpressed and clearly not in the mood for banter. “Aren’t you done playing matchmaker for today, Father?”

 

“Never underestimate the importance of a good match, son. It’s a great responsibility to ensure your child ends up with the right partner.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Adrian answered, more out of habit than agreement. Discussions with his father always ended with him feeling like a little boy crying over a dropped ice-cream, and he’d like to avoid that. Until he got his point across, at least. “It surprised me to see Mister Greengrass already looking around to marry off Daphne. Isn’t she a bit young?”

 

“Not much younger than your betrothed was when the negotiations started. Things like these take a long time and girls tend to grow up too fast. You can’t start too early with sorting out either.” Aloysius held up the contract. “I assume that that’s the reason for this get-together?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Adrian sat up straight and held his chin up high. If he wanted to convince his father that he was old enough to make his own decisions, he needed to play the part. “I want out. I’m of age, done with school, and have a job lined up at the Ministry after the summer. Terence and I plan on renting a flat in London within a few weeks.”

 

Aloysius leant back in his chair with an amused look on his face. “So? What does all that have to do with your contract?”

 

“I want out.”

 

“Because?”

 

“Because you said I could at any point in time. One, the time has come for me to do so, and two, I don’t like Johnson. I never have and probably never, ever will.” There, he’d said it. There was no way that his father would deny him this request now.

 

“Yes, I hear she is a bit too much at times.”

 

“You’ve heard correct.” Adrian nodded, glad to have his father on his side for a change. Thank Merlin, the rumour mill had done the preliminary work for him. “No one would want someone like that married into their family.”

 

“No, they wouldn’t,” Aloysius easily agreed as he reached for a cigar. He took his time lighting it and after puffing out a perfect ‘o’ shaped smoke circle, he said, “But you can’t break the contract.”

 

“What? Why not?”

 

“Because I don’t like Malcolm Johnson.” Aloysius sucked his cigar while he looked his son up and down. The indignation at the refusal and confusion was written all over the boy’s face. He reckoned he owed him a watered-down explanation. “I don’t like him; he is a pain in the arse with a too big head on his shoulders. He thinks that I’m willing to sell him the Elixir branch of the company.”

 

“Sell it then and get this farce over with,” Adrian lamented. “That doesn’t take years.”

 

“No, it doesn’t. But I’d be a fool to sell the most profitable part of my company, wouldn’t I?”

 

“Father, please, don’t make me beg for an answer,” Adrian said with a sigh. “What’s going on?”

 

“It costs Malcolm hundreds of Galleons per week in solicitor costs, endless amounts resources to change his company to our standards to make him eligible to take over Elixir. While he does that, he can’t make money because he’s too preoccupied with our potential. All that time and money needs to come from somewhere; his own pocket. So, in short, as soon as he declares bankruptcy, you can tear up the contract.”

 

“Business as usual, Father?” Adrian rubbed his face, wondering if he’d also be prone to cruelty at that level by the time he'd reach his father’s age. “How do I and his spawn fit in?”

 

“I wanted to see how far he and Saoirse would go for money seeing that she’s always been a galleon-sucking, ruthless harpy and him clueless as always.” Seeing the confusion on his son’s face, he waved his hand in dismissal. “Long story, maybe I’ll tell you on my deathbed.”

 

“Good man… How long?” Adrian was sure he sounded as whiny and childish as his mother accused him of sounding whenever he didn’t get his way. And as it was, he didn’t care one bit about that; this was his life his father was gambling.

 

“Until I die?” Aloysius asked laughing.

 

Instead of answering ‘yes’, Adrian bit his tongue and silently counted to ten. Not for the first time, he wondered if they were actually blood-related. Perhaps, he needed a chat with his mum and see if she really didn’t have a paramour around the date of his conception. One could only hope. “How long until the Johnsons end up in the poorhouse?”

 

Aloysius shrugged and relit his cigar. He liked his revenge slow and painful with a side of years of mental torture. “I’m in no hurry.”

 

"What am I supposed to do until then?"

 

“You’re a young man, son,” Aloysius said winking, “I’m sure you’ll come up with something. Preferably with Miss Johnson to keep up appearances, you understand.”

 

Oh, he understood all right. Adrian folded his arm and jutted his nose in the air in defiance. "No."

 

Aloysius smile faded and as he tapped his wand two times on the contract, making it glow in a golden hue, and merely said, "Yes."


	4. Isn't She Lovely?

The Hungry Horntail in Edinburgh’s magical centre was filled to the rafters on the rainy Sunday afternoon Angelina tumbled out their fireplace. As the only non-regular patron she stood out like a sore thumb. It was almost as if the conversations fell silent and all eyes turned to her. Adrian reckoned that wasn’t too far from the truth. He wasn’t sure why she’d wanted to meet in public. Here. His only guess was that she wanted to embarrass him instead of him embarrassing her down in London.

 

He could tell by the way she was glaring around -searching for him, no doubt- that she’d be trouble. It took her a few seconds to find it in the form of a small, drool-covered girl on the floor at her parents’ feet. The ginger haired girl was chewing on her toy in her chubby fist and minding her own business as far as Adrian could tell. But apparently, Johnson had other ideas.

 

“What are you looking at, you minger?” she snapped, a deep scowl deforming her forehead.

 

Adrian wondered if it be held against him if he didn’t help her out when a big man, as tall as he was wide, abruptly stood up from his chair, his eyes narrowed in menace.

 

“What did yeh say?”

 

Johnson stuck her nose in the air as her lips curled up in disdain. “What? Is that wretched thing yours? You should’ve kept her locked in its cage.”

 

Adrian decided that his father wouldn’t take it all too well in case he’d find out that he’d just stood by and watched how a Scottish Highlander ripped Johnson apart limb by limb. So, when the big oaf reached for his wand, he drowned the last of his pint and reluctantly trudged over to intervene. And regretted the moment he grabbed her arm to pull her away.

 

“Let me go, you git, that hurts.” She clawed at his hand, scratching the skin. “Now!”

 

“For once in your life, shut up,” he hissed in her ear before he turned to the man. “She's English, doesn' know any better. Sorry about tha'.”

 

The man growled something incomprehensible as he took a step closer. Not in the mood to die today, Adrian grabbed Johnson by the scruff of her neck and pulled her along as he hurried away as fast as his legs could carry him. He tried to ignore her cusses and struggles to break free, but by the time they reached the small corridor leading to the loos and staircase, he already had his fill with her.

 

She stumbled against the wall when he released her at the exact time that she dug her heels into the floor. Huh, how unfortunate was that?

 

“You sodding tosser. I could’ve handled that. Pathetic little shit-”

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re my favourite too. Up there.” Adrian not so gently pushed her towards the stairs leading up the more private first floor of the pub to get this little rendezvous over with so he could go on with his day doing nothing. Although he preferred to talk in the comfort of a crowded room –you’d never know what a mental hag like her could do when she thought no one was watching- he was aware that neither wanted others to eavesdrop or think they were friends or something.

 

The stair was steep with too many steps to count, which left him winded. Judging by Johnson’s never-ending tirade about all his apparent shortcomings that she knew nothing about, she didn’t seem to have the same problem. Her only problem was her inability to climb stairs without attempting to kick him off with each step she took. The sight of her calculated backwards kicks, which he managed to dodge, would have been funny to watch if they hadn’t been aimed at him. By the time they reached the quieter first floor that was filled with young lovers who were actually enjoying each other’s company, Adrian wondered if someone would hold it against him if he were to push her down the stairs accidentally.

 

“What are you staring at, you wanker?” Johnson snapped when she caught him eyeballing her and mistook his intentions.

 

Adrian took deep breaths to control his temper just as his father had shown him years ago. For the first time since then, he feared that taking breaths wasn’t going to help him with this problem. “Why don’t you sit over there while I get us-”

 

“Sod off,” Angelina interrupted him and instead of heading over to the table by the window Adrian had pointed at, she stalked to a wobbly one in a shadowy corner. “Get me a beer,” she ordered over her shoulder.

 

“Yeah, I don’t think so, Princess,” he muttered.

 

As anticipated, the look of utter outrage on her face was priceless when he sat down with his ice-cold pint and nothing for her. It got even more rewarding when he took his first sip and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction followed by smacking and licking his lips. Her cheeks flushed red hot as her hands on the table balled into tight fists.

 

“That’s not very gentlemanly of you,” she bit out.

 

Adrian shrugged in reply and just to annoy her some more, he took another big gulp. He was sure that she was going to hex him when he belched in her direction. To his disappointment -and admiration he would never admit to- she didn’t. What she did do was glower at him with flaring nostrils. He would have liked to irk her more, give her a small push in the direction of calling the betrothal off so he could say to his father that it hadn’t been him. Honestly, that had to be the reason that she wanted to speak to him today. He couldn’t think of anything else that might have prompted her to seek him out after all this time.

 

“I know most chits can’t take their eyes off me, but I thought you wanted to talk,” he said when her staring started to become unnerving.

 

“Yeah, you’re so hideous that I just have to look. You’re like a human Transfiguration gone wrong in the worst way.”

 

Adrian scowled at hearing that. Usually, Flint was on the receiving end of such remarks. “What do you want, Johnson?”

 

She pressed her lips into a grim line as she pulled up her sleeves and then proceeded to unwind the scarf from her neck. “Explain this.”

 

Breaking the contract, berate him for nothing doing it himself, he had even expected her to say that she was eloping with someone else and wanted to see him one last time to tell him to go pound sand. But out all the things he had expected today, oozing boils up and down her arms and with hives covered throat had not been it. As his instincts kicked in, and maybe he gagged a little as well, he scooted his chair back and covered his mouth and nose.

 

Many years ago, he’d gone foxhunting with his father and the condition of the poor animal once they’d caught it had haunted him for months. In hindsight, though, the skinned and bloody carcas of the fox was nothing compared to the stomach-churning blemishes on Johnson’s dark skin.

 

“Is it contagious?” he asked in a muffled voice.

 

“I wouldn’t know, would I?” Johnson hissed as she covered herself up again. “You tell me.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Adrian slowly lowered his hand from his mouth, frowning.

 

“You did this, you and your demented father. Now, fix it.”

 

“How have we done what exactly? Care to tell me a bit more than that?”

 

If looks could have killed, Adrian would have died a thousand deaths. Eventually, she grabbed his glass and downed the remaining beer in one go before she started talking. “I was having fun with- uh, someone when this happened.” She waved up and down her arm and throat. “Apparently, your father has changed the terms of the contract.”

 

Adrian wanted to ask what terms but failed to get one word in as she continued to berate him for ruining her youth, her beauty, and all her potential opportunities with what seemed like every breathing man that roamed the world. Except for him, of course. However, as Johnson grew more agitated and louder by his lack of reaction, slowly but surely realisation set in: his father was at it again. Knowing the old codger, the change must go both ways. So, this is how he wanted to ensure that he’d have his fun with Johnson: by eliminating all other prospects. Barmy old bastard. Old wizards’ home in Northern Siberia it was then.

 

“…are you going to do about it?”

 

The question broke his musings, and as he briefly mulled over her question, he decided to go with the first suggestion that popped up in his head. “Breaking the betrothal should do it I reckon.”

 

The relief that washed over Johnson was quite comical and only what she uttered next was even more hilarious than that. “You’ll talk to your dad, then?”

 

“Nope.” A mile-wide grin nearly split his face in half as he pointed at her. “You talk to yours if you want out, Johnson. Unlike you, I don’t mind waiting for you.”

 

He’d rather not risk his inheritance, thank you very much.

 

Angelina let out a growl in frustration as she threw her hands up to the heavens. While Adrian expected another round of her making a spectacle of herself, it didn’t turn out that way, which was rather disappointing. The only attention grabbing scene she caused was her chair toppling over when she abruptly stood up and stormed off without another word.

 

As he watched her disappear down the steep stairs –and maybe hoping a little bit that she’d tumble down onto her arse- a plan formed in his head. Maybe, he ought to take his father’s words to heart and have a little fun with Johnson. It could be interesting.

 

Right?

 

“What’s with the face?” the waitress who picked up the fallen chair asked.

 

Adrian shook his head as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ve vomited in my mouth.”


	5. Of Ruined Birthdays and Lives

**The summer before Angie’s seventh year**

The begin tunes of The Weird Sisters’ newest song floated through the room at the highest volume the small radio allowed. It wasn’t enough to spite her parents, Angelina reckoned, but all bits helped. Bits like the bottle of Ogden’s Special Blend she had nicked earlier that day, or her mother’s new silk robe that currently functioned as a dripping cloth since Katie couldn’t be trusted with nail varnish, magic or not. 

Feeling restless and frustrated, two emotions she couldn’t express because that would mean that she had to explain the Pucey-travesty to her friends, Angelina flipped through the Quidditch Weekly. The magazine was filled with article upon article about The Tutshill Tornadoes’ newest acquisition -Marcus _sodding_ Flint. The worst part was that pictures of him posing half-naked for some charity accompanied those articles. He didn't even have a bag over his head. Those sodding Slytherins were everywhere.

“Disgusting,” she bemoaned and threw the magazine across the room. It hit Katie right in the middle of her forehead and dropped on the floor. Angelina wasn’t sure what was more disturbing: the magazine falling opening right at Flint’s editorial or the way Katie nodded and licked her lips in appreciation as she took her time to study the image. 

Having caught Angelina’s eye and as equally disturbed as she was, Alicia asked, “Something interesting, love?” 

For a fleeting second, Katie looked caught before she vehemently shook her head and made sure to push the magazine in the direction of her handbag. “Nothing much, just reading.”

“Reading, huh? Sure you were. We’ll have a word about that later.” Alicia tossed a new bottle of nail varnish at her. “Try that one on your toes. I wanna see how it’ll look on me.”

Katie’s protests that she was just finished doing them were lost on Alicia. As she waved her wand over Katie’s feet to remove the previously applied three layers of varnish, she turned to Angelina. “Are you gonna tell us why you broke it off with Fred?”

“Wow, is that Hypnotising Red?” Angelina tried to change the subject and pointed at the small bottle in Katie’s hand. 

“You think I’d trust her with something like that? Nice try, though. Answer the question.”

“What’s it to you?” Angelina flopped back on the back, scowling at the ceiling. After her last snogging session with Fred, she’d rather chew her arm off than to break out in hives and boils again. Damn Pucey.

“What day is it today?” Alicia asked. 

“It’s your birthday, we know,” Katie said flatly. 

“True, and what was I supposed to do on my birthday?” Alicia asked slowly. As expected, Katie pulled a face and shuddered, but she wasn’t who Alicia had her eyes on.

Angelina groaned as she remembered what her friend had been raving about for the past few months. “Bleeding hell, how is you not getting banged my fault?”

“Don’t call it that,” Katie muttered as she sniffed the varnish. Neither of her friends paid her any heed, though.

“It’s your fault because out of all the days you could’ve broken it off with Fred, you had to do that on my birthday. Now my boyfriend wants to console his twin instead of shagging me for the first time, and I’m stuck with you two bints on my birthday. Why did you have to go and do such a thing? You know how long I had to wait before he agreed to do it.”

“Sex sounds good enough, don’t like the sound of banging or shagging,” Katie muttered as she applied a layer of the red varnish. Again, neither girl paid her attention. “Making lurve sounds better.”

Angelina turned to her side, half-shrugging as she stared out the window. It had gutted her to tell Fred that she couldn’t be his girlfriend. But then again, she didn’t like him enough to go through the pain and discomfort of the boils and hives again. “I… I just…”

“You what?” 

“I’m too young to settle down already.” Angelina swallowed slowly as she recited what her mother told her to say in case someone asked why she wasn’t dating anyone. “I need to sow my wild oats and, uh, things. Yeah, so…”

Katie looked up from her paintjob, her brows knitted together in incomprehension. “You’ve been doing that since your fifth year. You said you were done. How many oats do you’ve left to sow?”

“Thank you,” Alicia chimed in, nodding. “Yeah, who else is left, anyway? You had them all.”

“Not all, that’s ridiculous. Besides, I can do what the hell I want.” Just as Angelina wanted to tell the girls off, the loud tapping at her bedroom window interrupted her. 

Three sets of eyes turned at the russet coloured owl sitting on the sill. Katie was the first to look away, relieved that it wasn’t her parents’ owl with a message telling her that she needed to come home because they’d decided to change her curfew again. To keep up the appearance, she pretended to jump at the same time as the other two girls. And as they rushed to the window, she plopped down on her bum and pulled the Quidditch Weekly closer again, studying the near naked image of Marcus Flint with her thumb obscuring his face. To figure out why Angelina hadn’t liked it. At least, that’s what she told herself.

As Katie sat drooling over Marcus Flint’s body, the first time she’d done that over a boy, Alicia and Angelina were at a standstill. 

“Move, Spinnet,” Angelina growled with one eye on the owl. She didn’t recognise it, but the pecked look of the poor bird gave it away as a Postal Service owl. 

“No, it could be for me,” Alicia challenged her, her hands on her hips and eyes narrowed. “Let me see it first. Maybe George wants to meet somewhere before I need to go home.”

“My house, my mail.”

“My ruined birthday thanks to you.”

“Oh, get bent. You can’t keep using that.” 

Alicia stabbed Angelina’s shoulder with her finger, her cheeks aflame in anger. “I’d like to get bent. But I’ll have to wait until Georgie’s in the mood again. Thanks to you!”

“Nothing wrong with waiting,” Katie tried to appease absentmindedly. She turned the page, looking at it from the back and front, hoping to see what Flint had hidden underneath that tiny towel. “You ought to wait until you’re married. Yeah…”

“Shut up!” both girls screamed at her before they went at each other’s throats again.

“Cry me a river. You won’t die. Now, sod off, I have a letter to read,” Angelina told Alicia. 

“That’s easy for you to say. You get to shag everything with a pulse.” 

“I do not.” She hadn’t gone that far yet, thank you very much. Maybe, she shouldn’t have lied to her friends about that tiny detail. “Go sit with her. I have a letter to read in peace.”

Alicia leant in, her eyes still narrowed and ready to fight her friend to the death. But eventually, she relented. “You’ll give it the second you see it’s for me?”

“Oh, Merlin’s bleeding ball sack, yes. Gods, now go sit with Katie before we lose her to Flint.” Angelina pointed at Katie, shaking her head. Their friend had a blush on her cheeks, her nose practically touching the magazine on the floor.

Alicia glanced over her shoulder, and when she turned back to Angie, she looked confused. Quietly, she asked, “What’s wrong with her?” 

Angelina wanted to joke and tell her that they ought to find a way to set Katie up with Flint. The mere image of the troll had the ability to turn Katie into a fangirl, who’d know what the real thing would do. But as it, the owl was still at her window, and she really needed to see who had written her. Maybe, hopefully, the Puceys had decided the void the contract. So, what better than to sacrifice her friend for the greater good? 

“Mumblemumps again probably. You better Floo-call her mum and tell her to come and get her. You know, before we get sick as well. You won’t see George for the rest of the summer if you catch whatever it is she has.”

“Not sick,” Katie mumbled as she held the magazine up to the light to see through it, which was more than enough to convince Alicia.

“Yeah, I’ll call her,” she said with a sigh. She scrunched her nose as she glanced back at Katie. “The old bird’s gonna blame us again.”

“I know.” Angelina nodded in understanding. “But it’s for the best. Better go now that she’s still distracted.”

As soon as Alicia left the room to Floo-call Mrs Bell, Angelina opened the window to relieve the owl from the envelope wrapped around its leg. “Sorry, I’m out of treats.” Ignoring the indignant hoots, she pushed the bird off the sill and slammed the window shut before it could fly back up and bite her. 

Her eyes darted over the hastily scrawled message on the piece of scrap inside the envelope, unsure what to make of it. She was torn between ripping it into pieces and grinning smugly. Smugness won; he truly must think that she was an idiot. But if Pucey wanted to play, she’d gladly join and beat him at his own game.

“You’re terrible,” Katie muttered, interrupting her musings.

Angelina raised her brows as she looked up from the note. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to your best friend.”

“You made Ally call my mum so you could read that letter.” Katie shook her head, pouting in disappointment. “You threw me under a herd of stampeding Hippogriffs. Mum won’t let me leave the house again for the rest of the summer, and you know it. What have I ever done to you?”

Angelina shrugged, chuckling, and made her way to pick out an outrageous outfit for tonight. “Look at the bright side. You’ll have hours and hours of interrupted time to fantasise about Flint. Who knows, maybe you’ll learn how your vag works while you’re at it.”

“You’re disgusting,” said Katie annoyed as she shoved the magazine in her bag -to have something to read later tonight- and kicked the bottle of nail varnish over the virgin white carpeting in a final act of revenge. Judging by the high pitched from somewhere in the house, her mother was already on her way and ready to lock her up and throw away the key. 

Angie let out a deep sigh as she picked up a piece of clothing, she still wasn’t sure if it was meant to be worn as a top or a skirt. Maybe, she ought to give it to Katie as a peace offering. “That’s what I’m aiming for.” 

Hopefully, Pucey would think the same and then some and break off the betrothal.


	6. Of Indecent Proposals and Itches That Need Scratching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for not updating this in almost a year. No excuse other than the lack of inspiration. One of my resolutions for 2018 is to finish several WiPs and this is one of those.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> As always, any sort of feedback is much appreciated.

Thankfully, the Leaky Cauldron was almost deserted this time of night. Not that it kept Johnson from pulling the hood of her winter cloak so far down her face that only her chin was visible. Adrian scratched behind his ear, wondering why he’d thought that this would be a good plan, talking to her was like talking to a brick wall. No, he’d probably have more interaction with a brick wall. Scratch that, a brick wall was more chatty than Angelina Johnson was at the moment. 

“So,” he tried for the umpteenth time. 

“So…” she finally answered in a bored tone as she lifted her hood a little to sip her drink. 

“Yeah, so.” He couldn’t help but fan himself. They were in the middle of a heatwave, and the mere sight of her made him sweat. Thick winter cloak, woollen jumper and pants. He knew for a fact that she usually strutted around Diagon Alley dressed in scraps of fabric that barely passed for clothes. Did she think that he’d jump her or something if she wore that tonight? He would have been offended if he hadn’t feared her succumbing to a heat stroke. 

“Aren’t you hot?”

“Yes, I know. Everyone thinks so.” 

“No, they don’t.” Adrian rolled his eyes at her answer. Maybe having her succumb to a heat stroke wouldn’t be so bad after all. “I mean hot as in warm, you bint. You must be cooking dressed like that.”

Angelina waved her hand in dismissal. "Rather death by overheating than by the embarrassment of being seen with you. Now, what is it that you wanted to discuss? I’ve better things to do tonight. It's my best friend's birthday."

Adrian let out a deep sigh, counting dragons so he wouldn’t sink to her level. It took him a few minutes, but when he opened his mouth again, he was quite proud that his first words weren’t hexes aimed at her. Although those would get the job done much sooner, he’d like to keep his hands clean. “I have a proposal for you.”

“Okay, you wrote that much in your letter,” she said slowly, pulling her hood back a bit. Sweat drops glistened on her forehead. “Good Gods, man. Spit it out already. What is it?”

Again, Adrian took a few deep breaths and counted dragons until he was sure he'd control himself.

“Father won’t remove the additional clause in the contract. Before you start, yes, I’ve talked, begged, and screamed. He won’t budge,” he lied. Knowing his father well enough, he hadn’t bothered with mentioning it at all. The old codger was probably waiting for him to do so he could thump him for even suggesting such a thing.

“Fuck.” Angelina let out a breath of frustration as she wiped off her forehead with her sleeve and began fanning herself with her hand. “What am I supposed to do now? I have a life to live, Pucey. I’m trying out for Puddlemere this year, and I _will_ make the team. Do you know what goes on in their locker rooms? I’m too young to pass on that.”

“Slag,” Adrian muttered under his breath. 

Angelina stopped what she was doing for a second, and raised her brows in defiance. “What did you say?”

Feeling caught, Adrian plastered on a fake smile. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to piss her off if he wanted his plan to succeed. They were in the same boat after all. Well, she was on the boat, he was trying his best to get off it. “I said, sorry to hear. But, uh, funny you should mention that because that’s what I wanted to discuss.”

Angelina frowned as she surveyed him with distrust. “You wanted to discuss Puddlemere?”

“No.” Deep breaths. She was doing her best to irk him on purpose, he told himself. “Not being able to snog or shag anyone…other than you. And, uh, you me.”

Call him crazy, but despite the shadow her hood cast on her face, he was sure that her cheeks flushed. Huh, who knew a girl with a reputation like hers could still blush. Well, it was that, or she was on the verge of passing out due to overheating.

“What about it?” she asked impatiently.

“I have a plan, a proposition, if you will, to make our lives little less difficult.” Feeling strengthened by the fact that she pulled her hood off her head, Adrian muttered a quick prayer and pulled a phial from his pocket. “This should make our lives a little more bearable until…”

“Until what?”

Adrian swallowed hard to keep the burning bile down. When he was sure that he could voice his plan without vomiting, he pushed the phial in her direction. “Until you’re ready to make our love public, darling. I told you last time; I’m willing to wait.”

Just saying that made him feel dirty, but if he was going to do this, he had to play the part. No one said it had to believable. 

Like him, Angelina also looked as if she had smelt dragon dung. “You’d be waiting a long time, probably until you draw your last breath.” She shuddered and gagged for good measure. When she was sure that she got her point across, she pointed at the phial. “What’s that?”

“S’okay, you’ll change your mind eventually. Until then, we’ll have this.” Adrian waggled his brows. “It’s Polyjuice Potion.” 

“What are you doing walking around with that?”

“I plan to make our lives easier until I draw my last breath or until _you_ find a way to dissolve the contract.” So they were clear, he wasn’t going to do her work for her. He was just here to give her a little push in the right direction.

As he had expected, she looked utterly confused. Beneath that confusion, however, curiosity simmered. He knew he had her when she leant closer and asked, 

“What’s your plan?”


	7. Adrian Pucey Must Die

There were a lot of things Angelina had preferred to do on the last day of her summer holiday. Go out with her friends in clothes that made the vein in her father’s forehead throb, drink her weight in beer until she had to vomit, and dance until her feet hurt. And if she got lucky, she’d go home with a bloke that made her toes curl, and miss the Hogwarts Express the next morning because she was in the middle of a second romp with said bloke. You know, everything that witches her age did these days.

Of course, reality did not compute with Angelina’s dreams and desires for herself. Instead of wearing skimpy skirts and tops that showed off her midriff and the underside of her bum, her mother had forced her to dress in an itchy, ankle-long dress with long sleeves that buttoned up to her chin. Her plaits were pulled back into so tightly that each time she moved her head, another hair-follicle got ripped out of her scalp. Apparently getting dressed like Katie was the perfect way for Angelina to prove what a lady she was.

That was not even the worst part of the night.

There was no drinking beer, just sipping from watered-down cordial. Dancing was replaced by the mental gymnastics she had to perform to remember which cutlery went with which course. Oh, and vomiting was replaced by the spitting the strange foods into her napkin because no-one had warned her that slimy raw shellfish would be their dinner tonight.

And again, that was not the worst of the evening.

The worst part would be the real-life replacement for the fantasy bloke that was supposed to make her toes curl. In Angelina’s reality, kissing someone made her break out in hives and boils. As if having a magical chastity belt wasn’t bad enough, her mother had to go and rub her nose in the fact that Angelina’s Prince Charming was that god-awful Adrian. Because Saoirse Johnson’s idea of a wild night was to invite the Pucey men for dinner to bring the two betrothed youngsters closer together.

Well, Angelina wouldn’t mind getting closer to Pucey. No, not at all. The closer she got to him, you see, the easier it would be to plunge her fork in his eye and kick him in the groyne. She hadn’t forgotten his indecent proposition and how much it had upset her.

That arsehole had the come up with the idea to use Polyjuice Potion to get off. Not with others, mind, because Polyjuice Potion would not fool the additional terms added to their betrothal contract. No, itching the scratch was only possible with each other whether or not they liked it. The Polyjuice was meant to change to other into someone that actually did hit that magical spot for them.

It was a dastardly plan, disgusting how Pucey’s pea-sized brain worked like that, and an absolute shame that Angelina hadn’t come up with it herself. And that’s what had upset her the most after the initial shock had worn off. That, and the illogical outrage that Pucey didn’t think she was fit enough for him to get off. It was quite obvious why she’d need him to change, but why should she? Dammit, she had boys lined up in a mile-long queue because she was that desirable.

Who did Pucey think he was? She’d wipe that mocking grin off his face. If he thought that she’d behave because their parents were near, he was sorely mistaken.

“Arsehole,” Angelina grumbled through gritted teeth, her left eye twitching and her fork at the ready to strike.

“As I was saying, my darling Aloysius,” Saoirse Johnson cheerily twittered as she slammed her daughter’s hand back on the table, pinching hard until she dropped the fork, “why don’t we take our coffee in the study. I’m sure these two lovebirds wouldn’t mind a stroll in the garden.”

It took a second or two for the message to sink in since Angelina had finally locked eyes with Adrian and they were engaged in a silent battle. But when it did, it hit her hard.

“What, no!” Angelina bellowed as she jumped up, chair toppling over behind her. Pucey laughing at her behind his hand enraged her even more.

“Angelina,” Malcolm Johnson silently warned as he cocked his chin at his wife in a silent order to do something about the girl.

At the same time, on the other side of the table, Adrian Pucey nearly choked on the sip of wine he had just taken. Instead of helping him out, Aloysius elbowed him in the ribs and whispered something in his ear.

Saoirse, in the meantime, hissed something unintelligible and hastily grabbed Angelina’s arm to make her sit back.

“No, I won’t,” Angelina grumbled as she tried to escape her mother's death grip. Just she wanted to says that she’d rather eat dragon dung than take a romantic stroll with Adrian Pucey, the man himself beat her to it.

“Be alone without a chaperone,” Pucey chimed in between coughs. Beside him, his father nodded in approval. “With her being a _lady_ and all. We’ll take, uh, my elf. Yes, that’ll work.”

Angelina wanted to tell Pucey that he was even more mental than she gave him credit for and that he had another thing coming if he thought she’d go outside with him. Again, he beat her to it when he clumsily stood up from his chair and snapped his fingers.

A tiny house elf with a dirty silk scarf draped around its body appeared by Angelina's side and took her hand, its long nails digging into her skin.

“I’s Folly. I’s chaperone little missy so she won’t ruin young master’s good name.”

Whilst her parents chuckled uncomfortably, the creature dragged Angelina away from the dining room, its hold on her wrist freakishly strong. As she looked over her shoulder, Adrian Pucey was not far behind her. And behind him, Aloysius Pucey wore that same mocking grin his son had worn the whole night.

Something in the back of her mind told Angelina that this whole thing, the destruction of her life, was nothing more than a joke to the Pucey men.

***

“Can we go back in now?” Angelina asked as she curled her nose up at Folly, who was eagerly digging into its ear and intently studying whatever came out.

They were in her mother’s rose garden, sitting on a wooden bench with the house elf between them. They hadn’t gone far, just enough to see into Malcolm Johnson study without being noticed by their parents. Or so they thought.

“In a minute,” Adrian mumbled as he craned his neck to get a better look. “Your father is still staring out the window. You said he couldn’t see us here.”

“He can’t,” Angelina said, and quietly added, “I think.”

They fell back into a laden silence. Judging by the ooh’s and ah’ and the fake laughter wafting through the air, Angelina reckoned that at least her mother was having fun, and she briefly wondered if they were related.

“So,” Pucey broke her musings.

“So,” she replied. It would have been perfect if the house elf had chimed in as well. Unfortunately, it was too busy grubbing its nose.

“So,” Pucey said again as he leant in a bit closer.

Angelina narrowed his eyes at seeing his brows raised and lips pressed into a pale line, almost as if he was expecting something from her. What did he think she was, a mind-reader? Being polite enough not to assume that he was one, she asked like a proper lady would have how she could be of service.

“What are you staring at, you prick?”

Annoyance flashed across his face, and Angelina was sure he was going to go off at her. Gods, if only he would. She was dying to practice her hexing skills. Instead, he schooled his features and offered her a smile. It was the kind of smile that would make an average Slytherin girl swoon. Thank Circe, most Gryffindor girls were immune to the false charms of Slytherins.

“Did you give my proposal any thought?” he asked sweetly.

“No.” Angelina huffed and crossed her arms over her chest to put more heat behind her denial. Pucey wasn’t easily fooled, though.

“Liar.”

“Am not!” Honestly, who did he think he was.

Pucey leant in closer, pushing Folly of the bench. As the elf landed with a thud in the grass, his smile grew into that infuriating mocking grin again. “Yes, yes, you are.”

Ignoring the groaning elf by her feet, Angelina jutted her nose high in the air, trying her best to stare Pucey down. It was helping, she was sure of it. Even if it was just a tenth of an inch, he had cowered back to his end of the bench under the pressure of her death glare. “What makes you think that?”

There were quite a few things Angelina had expected. Like an argument, or that he’d walk away like the coward he was, or that she’d walk away once he started talking just to reiterate that she did not like him, at all. What she did not expect was from his to put his hands on either side of her face and press his mouth against hers.

Teeth clashed, noses and foreheads bumped, and somewhere by her feet, an house-elf began protesting, half-heartedly, bored almost. It was a bad kiss, worse than her first kiss with what’s-his-face Ravenclaw boy in her third year. Good heavens, even Katie kissed better, and she the habit of biting lips.

The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, which felt the longest of few seconds of Angelina's entire life. She guessed that the look on Pucey’s face when he finally pulled back resembled hers. Disappointed, disgusted even.

How dare he!

“Well, that was something,” Pucey muttered, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Something awful,” Angelina said indignantly, quickly mimicking his action. She couldn’t have him think that she’d enjoyed it. “You could’ve warned me, I would’ve ducked.”

Again, there was that flicker of annoyance on Pucey’s face, and again he managed to turn it into a smile, albeit a forced one. That was one trick she wouldn’t mind learning, Angelina had to admit.

“C’mon, darling, don’t be so coy. I don’t need permission to kiss my fiancée, do I?”

Too busy with pretending to gag in reaction to that comment, Angelina didn’t notice him get up and straighten out his clothes. Only when he walked away with a swagger to his gait and Folly hot on his heels, she looked up. That was supposed to be her exit, damn it, not his.

“Oi, where are you going?”

He turned on his heels, accidentally kicking Folly in the process. “Home, darling. I think you’ll need some time to yourself, to cool off after that hot kiss. Shhh, s’okay, I understand.”

It was the wink at the end that pushed Angelina over the edge. “Why you, no-good, tiny one-celled, spineless-”

Again, Pucey winked. This time, he had his lips puckered as if he were sending her air kisses. And when she jumped up, wand in hand and ready to charge at him, he waved his hand about in dismissal and walked off. Of course, he had to have the last word when he called over his shoulder,

“Owl me your decision in the morning, darling. Ta for now.”

“The answer is no,” Angelina growled. She’d rather die a wrinkled old virgin with just a handful of kisses under her belt than to be at his mercy. And that was what she intended to write him _now_. Why wait until the morning?

The answer was no.

Over her dead body.

She wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot broomstick.

Ugh, disgusting.

And as she started to trek back to the house, other thoughts popped up.

But she liked snogging.

She loved the heavy feel of a boy on and against her.

She wanted to feel a boy’s bit _inside_ her, even if it was just once. Just to see what the fuss was about.

What if her parents couldn’t come up with a solution to break off the betrothal? She’d be snog and sexless for the rest of her life. Like… like... Oh Good Godric, she'd be just like Katie.

“I wanna live _my_ life,” Angelina said with a groan as she stood still by the grand garden doors, lightly banging her head against the glass.

She had some thinking to do and decisions to make.

***

The next morning, a tawny owl carried a note to Adrian Pucey. The message, nothing more than a single word, kicked his plan into the next phase.

It was time to compose a list of all the girls he wanted Angelina Johnson to turn into for his pleasure. Girls Johnson hated with a passion just to see how far he could push her before she'd finally give in. But first, he needed to find a way to get those girls' hairs.

The mere notion made him feel like a pervert.

Hopefully, Johnson would come to her senses soon and break off the betrothal already.


End file.
